


Eat Your Heart Out, Juan Valdez

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Jim's sense of taste goes out of control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Your Heart Out, Juan Valdez

## Eat Your Heart Out, Juan Valdez

#### by Ladyperidot

  
Not mine, no money, yadda, yadda, yadda.  
Written for THe Sentinel Fic-a-Thon:   
A Sense of Cliches. Jim loses a sense/sense goes out of control- Taste   
  
  


* * *

Eat Your Heart Out, Juan Valdez 

By Ladyperidot 

The tall detective came down the stairs, dressed for the day and headed toward the kitchen. The earthy aroma of a pot of fresh-brewed coffee drew him. He poured a cup for himself and began the process of gathering the making for breakfast. Jim listened to the water pouring over his Guide as the younger man showered. Unconsciously he tested the air for the scents his partner gave off - skin oils, herbal soap and shampoo - Blair. The water sound ended and Jim broke the eggs into a small bowl. He'd let Sandburg add the herbs and flavors for their scrambled eggs. As sounds indicated Blair drying and dressing, Jim set the table, poured juice and dropped bread into the toaster. 

"Mornin', man," Blair greeted as he appeared in the kitchen. Seamlessly he stepped between Ellison and the counter and added fresh tarragon, kosher salt and freshly ground white pepper to the eggs. Grabbing a whisk, he began to whip the eggs. 

Jim had grunted his version of 'good morning', and reached around the younger man to open the fridge and grab some shredded cheese. Handing the container to the cook, he said, "We'd better use this. Toss it in with the eggs, will ya?" 

"Sure, man. Wouldn't want you to NOT get enough cholesterol in a day, ya know." 

Jim rolled his eyes, pushed the lever on the toaster and reached for a mug for Blair's coffee. 

As if choreographed by a dance master, the partners finished their kitchen duties and headed for the breakfast table at the same time. Sandburg began his ritual morning babble about his schedule, grading papers, bits of anthropological trivia, lousy weather. Jim listened to the voice but not the words. 

As he pretended as interest in Sandburg's ramblings, he reached for his coffee and took a gulp. Whoa! What was that? Jumping from the table, he reached the sink and spit the dark liquid into it. 

"Sandburg! What kind of crap did you put in the coffee?" The voice was loud and angry. 

Blair was at his side in a moment. "What's wrong, Jim? It's the regular coffee. I didn't do anything to it!" 

Rinsing his mouth and wiping the back of his hand across his lips, Ellison's blue eyes pierced his partner with a glare. "Then you must have left soap in the pot when you cleaned it last night!" He reached for a glass, holding it to the light and giving it a thorough visual once-over before filling it from the tap and drinking. 

"Man, I didn't DO anything. Hey, maybe it's your senses." He jumped to the table and brought back a forkful of eggs from Jim's plate. "Here, big guy. Try this." 

The cornflower blue eyes narrowed skeptically as Ellison placed the fork in his mouth. Almost immediately, the contents of his mouth joined the coffee in the sink. 

"What the hell?!" he demanded. "All right, Chief, what's going on here? The coffee and eggs taste like - like - like you're trying to poison me." 

Here we go again - fear-based responses, the younger man mused. "Wait a minute, Jim," he began. "The coffee and eggs were prepared just like always. Same old French Roast Maxwell House and same old eggs. Well, not "old". You watched me put in the tarragon, salt and pepper. You even handed me the cheese. Try to isolate what other flavors you're detecting that taste 'off'." 

Jim paused, tongue rolling in his mouth as Sandburg watched. 

"Nothing specific, but something is sure off." 

"Okay, man. Try dialing back to 1. But do it slowly," the Guide advised, his hand resting in the middle of the older man's back. "Got it?" he questioned. 

"Yeah, Chief. Got it." 

"Okay, now slowly come back up to 2." Jim stood beside his Guide and slowly nodded his head. "Now take a tiny sip of the coffee." 

Again, Ellison did as told and made a face as soon as the dark brew passed his lips. The coffee hit the sink. With a look of disgust on his features, the big cop spoke, "Any other ideas, Einstein?" 

Blair stepped to the table returning with a slice of toast. "Let's try this," he suggested, offering the slice to his partner. 

Jim nibbled on the crust. Sandburg tried not to laugh. His partner reminded him of an overgrown rabbit delicately chomping on a lettuce leaf. The blue eyes closed in concentration, the nose twitched, and his lips moved as even white teeth gnawed on the toast. 

"Phhfft," came the sound as crumbs joined the remains of Ellison's breakfast in the sink. "Not as bad," he announced, "but the butter tastes rancid." 

"Jim, Jim, the food is all right. Maybe there are some other things we can try." He reached for the salt and poured a small amount into his palm. Moistening his fingertip on his tongue, he pressed it against the pool of small white granules. Lifting the coated fingertip, he offered it to Ellison. "Try this. The salt should be harmless. It's a basic flavor, one you're used to and . . . ." He got no further, seeing the look of the older man's face. 

"What," Blair asked. 

"I KNOW how salt tastes!" 

"Yeah? And your point? This should be okay. You're still dialed down, right?" 

"Yeah." 

Blair jabbed his finger in Jim's direction. 

In a voice that sounded suspiciously like a whine, the Sentinel began, "But, Chief, you just licked your finger!" 

"Oh, for god's sake, Ellison! Just taste it! See if it still tastes like salt!" The anthropologist was beginning to get exasperated. His Sentinel didn't seem to want to cooperate. 

A pink tongue appeared and Blair took his chance. The finger swiped across the tongue tip. A look of deep concentration appeared on the older man's face. 

"Well?" Blair asked. "Does it taste salty?" 

"Mmmmmm." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Yeah. Salty - sorta." 

"Sorta?" 

With that Jim grabbed Blair's hand and brought the digit to his lips. The tongue reappeared and this time took a leisurely trip over the fingertip. 

"Ooookay, big guy." 

But Jim did not release the hand. 

"Jim? Man, what's going on?" Even as he spoke the Sentinel's grip on his hand changed. Long fingers released the harsh grip and held the younger man's in a softer clasp. 

"Jim?" Blair repeated, but did not try to pull back his hand. The soft lips were now kissing his fingers, walking their way across the back of his hand. 

"Jim!" Did he really just squeak? What was the big detective doing? Suddenly his entire index finger disappeared - right into that luscious mouth. 

"Jim?" This time it was a soft whisper instead of that humiliating squeak. 

"Chief," the name was uttered in such a tone. "You. Taste. Absolutely. Wonderful." 

"Wha?" 

"The salt was just the basis for your flavor." Another finger disappeared and a tongue caressed the entire digit. Jim moved to the ring finger, laving it thoroughly. "Sort of sweet." And as his tongue danced along Blair's pinky, "And a different spice, mixed with . . ." 

The swipe of tongue against the inside of his wrist took away the younger man's breath. 

Inhaling deeply, Jim brushed the inside of his Guide's forearm with his nose. "Orange, no, lemon - and basil and ginger. Chief, yo smell and taste so good." 

Blair was stunned. This was definitely NOT the Jim he knew. But this WAS the Jim he had fantasized about. 

Suddenly hands were kneading his shoulders. Then the long fingers were pulling the henley up from his waist. His torso and shoulders bared, Ellison began to nuzzle the hair on the younger man's chest. Lips brushed against skin and sighs could be heard as they moved across sensitive flesh. 

"Sweet," and lips locked on a small patch of flesh the color of wet sand. As suction began, the flesh took notice, stiffening and drawing whimpers from its owner. 

Nibbling his way across the furry chest, Jim's lips and tongue tasted and teased the other small tit to attention. The Guide was holding fast to the broad shoulders before him, lost in a haze of dreams-come-true and arousal. 

How did he get in here? Somehow Ellison had moved him and the sofa was behind him. They had been in the kitchen doing - something. Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. Jim's sense of taste was off. But wait. What was the big guy mumbling about now? More? More what? 

Hands were at his waist and his jeans were opened and being pushed, pushed down to his knees along with his boxers. What was Jim doing? 

"Hey, man," but that was as far as he got. A gentle shove and he was sitting on the sofa with the man of his fantasies kneeling between his legs and mumbling again. 

"More. More, have to taste more of you, all of you, Chief." 

It was extremely difficult for Blair to hide his obvious interest in what his roommate was doing. His erection was all but prodding at Jim's jaw. As he watched, the delectable mouth descended and captured the head. His skin was glistening with proof of his assent. Sandburg watched as Jim's tongue appeared and began to taste him. 

The dark, curly head dropped back, unable to watch and feel at the same time. The emotional and physical overload too much. 

He could feel himself swallowed into the hottest, wettest cavern he could imagine. When the sucking started, he knew he would not be able to withstand it for long. 

"J-J-J-Jim! I can't. . .I'm gonna. . ." 

The tormenting mouth and tongue moved. "Yes, Chief! Let me taste all of you!" 

With a small moan Blair gave in to the climax his partner had caused. He could feel his body pumping into the Sentinel and he could feel himself tasted and swallowed until exhaustion claimed him. Blair collapsed, moaning, as Jim cleaned his lover with his tongue, the rested his shorn head on a slender yet muscled thigh. 

It was quiet. Only the sounds of breathing returning to normal cadences breaking the stillness. Sandburg tried to speak, to move, but could not. 

Then he felt movement and Ellison rose from his place on the floor. The big man stumbled to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of the forgotten coffee. 

Blair raised his head and was about to warn Jim that the coffee was what had started this rather bizarre turn of events. Blue eyes watched as the dark brew was swallowed. He watched and waited. 

Jim rolled his tongue through the coffee, tasting it. After another sip, he looked at his semi-naked partner, sprawled on the sofa. A large grin spread itself across his chiseled features. 

"Chief?" 

"Yeah, man?" 

"Whatever this blend of coffee is," he paused as Sandburg tensed, "you'd better be sure to pick it up again. It's the best I've ever tasted." 

* * *

End Eat Your Heart Out, Juan Valdez by Ladyperidot: ladyperidot@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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